


One Night Standards

by PastPresentFiction



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23765443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastPresentFiction/pseuds/PastPresentFiction
Summary: Pick ANY Male Celebrity and this will hopefully work for them (OK any male celebrity that has some scruff and likes to dress down).Drinking away all the bad crap that life brings, I (you) am sitting in a bar that I'd usually never step foot in.  He walks in, few words are spoken, but intent is clear cut.NOT EXPLICIT  A set up for the imagination.Also based on the song "One Night Standards" by Ashley McBryde
Comments: 6
Kudos: 3





	One Night Standards

Sitting at a dingy bar, sipping my drink, savoring every burning swallow, I glanced around at the other people partaking in their own forms of self medication. Be it the beer drinkers or those who preferred hard liquor this wasn’t the type of place to think of getting a fruity mixed drink with more sweet than alcohol. This dark and quiet place was for those who wanted nothing more than to drown their day, their week, or their life. 

I was simply one of the ones that was feeling particularly down since every single thing that could go wrong had this week, month, life. And, finishing the drink in my glass, I gestured to the bartender for another. I felt someone sit down beside me, but I could have given less of a shit only if they lowered the shit bar. 

A deep voice asked for a beer, his leg accidentally brushing my bare knee. I didn’t even bother glancing at him as he muttered his apology. Like it mattered. A small nod was the only answer he’d be getting from me tonight. I heard the bartender sit the beer bottle down in front of him, and smiled when my own drink was delivered. The purpose was, for me at least, to become comfortably numb.

Music, faint even in the quiet of the bar, wasn’t enough to make me forget my troubles. Definitely not enough to give anyone the urge to dance. I studied the lights from the bar through the clear fluid of my drink, wondering what could possibly make me feel better about- well anything. 

“You look like you’ve had a rough-” the deep voice beside me started, but I snorted cutting him off. 

I barely turned my head, side-eyeing him to which of the options he was going to finish with. “Day? Week?” Month?” I felt the smirk that was my constant companion twitch at the side of my mouth. “Try life.” I took another sip of my drink. 

“Is it really that bad?” He asked, and he sounded interested. That was fucking dangerous. 

Swallowing another sip, I felt the urge to groan build. “Of course not. Would ‘really bad’ bring me to such-” I gestured around our surroundings. “Elegant places?” 

His chuckle was so deep and low that I would swear I could feel it through the soles of my shoes hooked on the bars of the stool I was seated on. I heard him take a drink of his beer. “When you put it that way-”

Silence settled again, and I sighed internally. I knew that my limit was one more drink, after the one in front of me, and I settled in to savor this one, then that one when it came. The stranger beside me, who clearly wasn’t as strange as he could have been, seemed of a similar mind. He drank his beer with the same short sips, his gaze focused on the mirror behind the bar. The thousand yard stare that I shared.

We sat together, not touching, not really talking. Drinking our drinks, occasionally those far off stares would meet in the mirror, and a smile here and smirk there. I could feel the heat from his body, bar stools were situated pretty close after all, and I was still wearing the light dress I’d put on when the sun was barely peeking over the horizon this morning. It looked like he was dressed far more appropriately for the establishment. Jeans, v-neck t-shirt, mussed hair, scruffy face, a uniform for men who knew they didn’t have to work hard to get attention.

I nearly scoffed at the unfairness of that. Men could sport day old scruff (or more), their hair could look like they’d slid their fingers through it all day while driving with the windows down, and an outfit that made it difficult to decipher whether they worked blue collar jobs or bought and sold blue collar businesses without more than a passing thought. 

Women? Well, if I judged by my own experiences, heels were deemed a necessary evil if I was expected to be treated with any type of attention. And highlight femininity. And smile for shit’s sake, no one wants to see a frown on a woman’s face. Not even if she’s telling someone that the world is ending. Say that with a huge, perfect smile, darling. It makes it easier to take. 

The man seated next to me, I knew for a fact, wasn’t the blue collar worker he was taking fashion cues from. Hell, if ANY of the other patrons had taken a look away from their drinks and diversions, I was fairly certain I’d be run over for them to get to him. An actor, and not just ANY actor. A cult favorite. Someone who was known by, if not his own name, then at least by his most famous character’s. 

I may not feel like the world had much to offer in my current snit, but I wasn’t dead. Seeing him, here, beside me, was ALMOST enough to make me consider reconsidering my mood. Almost. Not quite there. 

“Let me buy your next one,” he offered, breaking through my thoughts. 

I shrugged, sitting down my now empty tumbler. What the hell, it wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. A question tugged at the back of my mind, but I was keeping it at bay. It didn’t matter. I didn’t care. 

My drink came, and so did his. “Thank you.” I offered, trying and failing to offer more than my near constant smirk. 

“Anytime.” He replied. Our eyes met in the mirror again, and I saw his smile grow. He looked down at the bar and I redirected my attention to my own glass. “You gonna tell me your name?” He asked, directing the question at the wood beneath his bottle. 

“Not sure she’s going to answer,” I said, smirk growing a little. “She’s made of wood, you know?” 

That got a laugh out of him. “Yes, she sure as hell is.” He turned to face my profile. “What about you?”

I tilted my head, pretending to think about it. “Yeah, I’m not made of wood.” I took a sip of the drink he’d be paying for and licked the excess moisture from my bottom lip. 

His smile was almost blinding. Glad I could amuse at least someone. “I did not expect that.” I raised my eyebrow and cocked my head to the side. “You’re a little bit-”

“Sassy?” I offered. “Smart ass?” 

Another laugh and I gave in and turned to face him. “Why does my name matter?” I asked, truly curious. I would eventually leave this bar. I would walk away and I would never see him again. Not here, not anywhere, except perhaps if he graced the screen of my television or I sat down in a movie theater and he happened to flash before me. 

He studied me, taking another drink from his bottle, clearly trying to find a reason it did. Quiet blanketed us and I waited. His smile, ever present and overwhelmingly charming, twitched as he gave me an answer. “Guess so I could put a name to your face.” He shrugged and won points for not throwing me some cheesy pick up line. 

I give my first name to him, like a gift, and focus on my glass. Last drink of the night I tried to hide from reality. I glanced up at the mirror behind the bar, and saw he was doing the same. And another question built in my brain, an insane inappropriate proposition that I had no intention of sharing. 

“Never asked mine,” his voice was low, and I realized that we’d both kept our conversation, scarce though it was, quiet. 

“Didn’t need to.” Another sip, taking the time to let the liquid swirl in my mouth, enjoying the flavor, the cold, the bite. Swallowing it, I noticed that I’d be leaving soon. Another sip or two, and I’d be finished. Off to the real world, no matter how disappointing it might be at the moment. 

He took another drink, he had to be nearing the bottom of his own bottle. I watched as his eyes closed, enjoying the flavor of his own, as I had. “I’m staying at a place down the road.” He said, eyes opening, staring into mine in the mirror before us. I felt a flutter in my stomach. “It’s not where anyone cares who I am.”

Or who you’re with, I inserted for him. His hands were bare of jewelry. No ring in sight, no proof of whether he was taken or not. I knew. He knew. But there wasn’t a sign to stop either one of us from considering what he was saying. I took another drink, noncommittal. A no-tell motel. Him. Me. Could I? Should I? I came into this bar looking for a distraction from my world. Here it was on a platter. 

The motel wasn’t something anyone would connect to him. Or anyone in his profession for that matter. It still had keys, metal keys, in fact. We hadn’t touched when leaving the bar. We hadn’t spoken. What was there to say?

He opened the door and stood back for me to step in first. I walked in, taking in the sparseness of the room. A double bed, nightstand, TV. Nothing to write home about, but we weren’t tourists, and this wasn’t a vacation from anything but our real lives. In this dank room, suitable for one thing only, we’d find it.

I felt his hands slide down my arms, bare and take my hands in his. His chest pressed against my back, his face coming down to inhale the scent of my neck. His lips kissed a spot just under my earlobe, finding one of my sweet spots like he’d picked up a map on the way to the motel. Our clothes fell, and if either of us had any inhibitions they were tossed on top of the pile of fabric. 

We spent hours getting lost in one another. Taking our time, savoring the other’s body as we had our drinks at that hole in the wall bar. Coming together and rushing full steam through pleasure as though it were our job. And it was, for the night. When we parted, exhausted from the trials of forgetting, he rolled onto his back and before he could pull me to him, before I could be tempted to pretend this was something it wasn’t, I stood and dressed. Slipping out of the room before a word could be shared. It was enough. It was a better form of self medicating. And it was finished. 

  
MY MUSES FOR THIS ONE: 

And the song it's based around: <https://youtu.be/K3LLA6vNcQk>


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